I was 11 when I first learned to light a match. I was so proud, practicing over and over again in my bedroom until I mistakenly burned my finger on the flame. I quickly dropped the match into the paper-filled wastebasket, and within a moment a small fire had ignited in my bedroom.
I tried to throw myself on the fire, slapping clumsily at it, before realizing that the bathroom sink was my only answer. Leaving my room, running down the hall, and filling my toothbrush cup, seemed like an eternity. I threw water on the fire, dousing the flames before it got out of control. In all honesty, I was more afraid of my mother finding out that I had been playing with matches than I was the actual fire.
Once, a household staple, match strikers served an important purpose. Matches were readily available for lighting the oven for cooking and heating the house. They were incredibly popular in France with advertising and graphics, but I am drawn to the simplicity and the variety of shapes these simple white ones offer.